Purple Prose
by Sushi Shea
Summary: A collection of no-themed drabbles and near-one-shots that I will try to update frequently. 12 - "If my overall observations are correct, you should be alert enough to find this note at around 3:02 to 3:15 AM, give or take a few minutes."
1. Prompt: Twilight

Greetings dear reader, and welcome to the first chapter of my little drabble series, "_Purple Prose_"! This series possesses no theme; this is where I will post my tiny writing exercises! I will try to update this as much as I can, based on prompts I receive from my friends and folks, as well as my own random ideas.

Before you go on reading, I would like to give a BIG shout out to AlexHamato, who gave me the prompt for this little tid-bit below here! She is an excellent writer, and I would fully recommend her to anyone who's wondering where they can find new, interesting and high quality stories!

Now, sit back, enjoy the drabbling of a young writer, and once you're done reading...

Write write write!

~ Sushi Shea Shogun

* * *

><p>There was no doubt about it; the city was at it's most colorful at this moment, in the bridge between the day and night. A beautiful mingling of gentle reds, vibrant oranges, fading blues, faint purples - in-between shades Michelangelo didn't even know the name of - blended above him in perfect harmony. They stretched across the darkening sky in a rich, wonderful rainbow of nature that, given his usual environment in the bland grays and browns of the sewers, he had come to appreciate since the first time he could look above his head and see the wispy texture of billowing clouds in the heavens.<p>

Perhaps it was irresponsible of him to linger on the surface before he was granted the true cover of the night. Perhaps it was reckless to wander the rooftops while the sun still peaked over the horizon, painting his light green skin with the warmth of a subtle, yellowish tint. But he wouldn't miss it for the world.

He didn't need century old trees to see beauty. He didn't have to live before endless miles of grasses dancing in the wind to feel peaceful. He didn't need a million stars to admire the sky. He always had that little space of time where the Mother Nature in New York could express herself, painting her favorite colors across the sky in a divine mirage.

He always had twilight.


	2. Song Scribble: La Isla Bonita

Hello again! I'm glad you're still following along with "_Purple Prose_"! I wanted to put another author's note here cause' I don't want to get sued, heh heh.

Every once in a while, special little drabbles like this one are going to show up. I call them "Song Scribbles". Based on a challenge I saw a while a go, these ones are inspired by the lyrics to a song; they will all have at least two lines from the song they are written in accordance to. You may find it fun to find the lyrics if you know the words!

This one here is inspired by** Madonna** and her song, **"La Isla Bonita"**. Enjoy, and when you're done reading...

Write write write!

~Sushi Shea Shogun

* * *

><p>Donatello couldn't help but to feel like he was intruding on his older brother. Nonetheless, he joined him on the edge of the roof, staring out at the morning sun as it rose lazily up from the wide horizon of the New York buildings. The warmth of it's golden hues showered them with a friendly welcome and new found energy in the coming day.<p>

For a while, he and Leonardo said nothing to each other. Then, the older of the two broke the silence. "I had a dream last night."

Donatello yanked himself from his trance and looked at Leonardo, surprised that it was he that spoke first, as well as the fact that he chose this as a conversation topic. "Yeah?"

"Yeah..." Leonardo continued, not bothering to look back at him. "Last night, I dreamt of San Pedro. I was on a beach, all by myself."

Donatello raised an eye ridge, still intrigued by Leonardo's decision to discuss this. He wasn't sure what to add. "Must have been...nice...?" he said slowly, feeling strangely awkward.

Leonardo didn't seem to notice Donatello's discomfort. He simply nodded, his eyes glossed over in deep thought; the sun reflected in them was earning a soft golden glow as it's actual counterpart continued to venture to the top of the sky. "I didn't really...do anything. I was just standing there." A pause. Then, he added, "And someone was whispering something...over and over again."

Donatello stared at Leonardo, now somewhat curious. "What were they saying?"

" 'La Isla Bonita...' "


	3. Song Scribble: Dance!

Hello out there to all of you who are still reading along! Here it is, then; that second "Song Scribble" I told you about. This one is inspired by** Dance Like There's No Tomorrow, **by the wonderful** Paula Abdul. **See if you can spot the lyrics, enjoy, and...

Write write write!

~Sushi Shea Shogun**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Michelangelo was in a particularly sour mood, and no longer cared about what time he returned home that night. It had been a long, loud day at work, and now he just wanted to loosen up. He was just glad, as he turned into the alley way and cause the concrete to crackle upon pulling up into the garage, that he would be able to do whatever he wanted for the rest of the evening and not have to wear that silly giant turtle head.<p>

It felt like it was hours before he entered the cool atmosphere in the quiet room of the Lair. The only sound, other than a few clanking pipes and the sound of Klunk purring as he slept curled up on the sofa, was the tapping of fingers on a keyboard; Donatello was still cleaning up after work, it seemed, hunched over his desk with his headphones still over his head where his ears would be.

Michelangelo did nothing to make his presence known, but instead made his way over to the kitchen to poke around in the fridge for something to drink. As Michelangelo, finding his search unproductive of anything other than a few inches worth of milk and molding cheese, pushed the fridge shut with unnecessary force and made his way back to the sofa, looking weary.

Donatello proved that no indication of his brother's presence was needed, as he spoke a moment afterward."Hey Mike." he began, his tired looking eyes still flickering across the computer monitor. "How was work?"

"Ugh, it _sucked_." growled Michelangelo, collapsing onto the couch and slouching over the head. "The birthday kid bit like a piranha. Today just wasn't my day." he buried his face in his hands, sighing. "Everyone's getting me so fed up-!"

"No kidding." said Donatello sympathetically, leaning back in his chair. "I just want to _quit_. I gotta find a way to-"

Michelangelo interrupted him; something seemed to come alive on his face. "Wait a minute. Waaaait a minute!" he said, holding his hands up as if any sudden actions would chase his idea away. This cued Donatello to stare at him curiously. "I know what can make me feel better!" he continued, hopping up from the sofa and striding away to his room.

"What-Oh no." Donatello moaned as Michelangelo reemerged almost as soon as he had left with a disk labeled "Mike's Music", and popped it into the radio. "No no, _please_ don't turn that on. I still need to-"

"Sorry dude, you're taking a break." said Michelangelo. He bounded across the room, grabbed Donatello's wrist, and dragged him out of his chair. "Cause' all _I _wanna do is dance like there's no tomorrow!"


	4. Prompt: Frozen Fire

Another prompt drabble! Read and let me know what you think!

Write write write!

~Sushi Shea Shogun

* * *

><p>The pitifully shallow cave Leonardo had found did not offer as much shelter as he would prefer from the bitter cold of the winter wilderness outside; The wailing gusts of arctic wind, relentless and brutal, pushed blasts of punishing, icy chills of the harsh weather onto his trembling body. The thrashing wind decorated the frosted rock walls around him layer by layer with violent swirls of balled snowflakes as he curled ever more tightly near the struggling flames of the fire he had barely managed to bring to life.<p>

Every inch of his skin screamed for relief from the freezing air, and every nerve in his hands and feet was numb, unfeeling. He tucked them as close to him as he could, rubbing his palms furiously together in a vain attempt to bring them to life and keep them warm as he wished, for the first time, that he had mutated into something with fur.

From what he could judge by the wild energy of the storm, it would rage on all through the night, and to venture into it's blinding midst with no direction was foolish; the only thing he could do now was try his best to tether strength into his juvenile fire. He would burn himself time and time again on the flames while he pushed the feeble twigs and dried leaves...

But even the sear of a red blaze could not burn like the flames of a frozen fire he could not see.

.


	5. Mikey's Mantra

Hello everyone! This drabble is a little more dialogue based than usual; hope you enjoy!

Write write write!

_~Sushi Shea Shogun_

* * *

><p>"Hey Leo, you see Klunk anywhere? It's bath day and I think he's hiding from me."<p>

Leonardo didn't even open an eye. "Not now, Mikey."

Life back home hadn't been very easy for him since his return from the wilderness of Central America two weeks prior to that day, and he felt that he was due for a quiet meditation session in the dojo. Admittedly, he wasn't managing a very efficient one. Frustrating thoughts wove in and out of his head, writhing viciously in refusal to leave him in peace. The last thing he needed was someone to talk to him, and therefore require more thinking.

Michelangelo seemed to guess this as Leonardo's calm expression soured and tensed. "Aw, what's with the face?" he asked, poking his temple teasingly.

"Mikey, I really-"

Michelangelo cut him off. "Ah-ah-ah! Say no more, big brother!" he said promptly before circling around to sit in front of Leonardo, fold his legs, and lean in slightly to look him directly in the eyes. "Repeat after me. 'My life is wonderful... !' "

"Is this really the ti-"

Michelangelo clamped a hand around his brother's beak. "No." he said patiently, his grin growing wider. " 'My life is wonderful... !' "

"Mikey..." said Leonardo with a growl through his restrained snout.

"Say it... !"

Leonardo sighed in resignation, pushing his brother's hand away from his beak. " 'My life is wonderful...' " he repeated.

" It's not that bad... !"

"Mi-"

Michelangelo made a brisk shushing noise, holding up a hand to silence him. " It's _not_... !"

" ' That bad...' "

"...And it will all get better tomorrow."

" '...And it will all get better tomorrow. ' " said Leonardo in conclusion. "Happy?"

"Well, do you feel better?"

Leonardo gave his well-meaning brother a small smile. "A little."

"And that can make all the difference!" said Michelangelo, clapping his hands together. "If you want, we can do it again-!"

"No, I don't think so." said Leonardo quickly, as this would prolong the time he didn't spend doing something slightly more productive than repeating Michelangelo's mantra. "Do something with yourself and I'll be out in a moment."

"Suit yourself, dude." said Michelangelo with a casual shrug. Then, giving Leonardo a firm pat on the shoulder, he got to his feet and left the dojo, all the while calling, "Klunk! You can't hide from me forever!"

Leonardo watched his brother leave before taking a deep breath and bowing his head to resume his meditation. It was a very simple exercise for Michelangelo to share with him; nonetheless, he couldn't help but to repeat that small mantra over and over again in his head.


	6. Mask Man

"Hey Raph! Ra-a-a-a-ph!"

Raphael huffed silently; furrowing his brow, squinting his eyes and leaning over where he sat on the couch, he attempted to drown out Michelangelo's voice as he tried in vain to discern the sports commentators over the constant call of -

"Ra-a-a-ph! Raphie! Hey Raph!"

What came next was inevitable, he knew it was true; if Raphael wouldn't bother to come to Michelangelo, Michelangelo would have no problem with coming to him. Sure enough, the younger turtle soon entered the room and launched himself over the back of the couch to perch on the coffee table, blocking his view of the television screen. Upon looking up at him in obvious annoyance, Raphael noticed that on Michelangelo's face was a very familiar white hockey mask.

"Hey Raph! Guess who I am!" said Michelangelo, his tone accented with a sing-song.

"A pansy in a hockey mask?" answered Raphael plainly, completely unamused. Then as a side note, he added, "Where did you get that thing, anyway?"

"What? Oh, I grabbed it from Casey's place." said Michelangelo casually, waving off the fact as unimportant. "He's got loads of em' in his closet, so-" he paused there; he must have noticed a drop in Raphael's expression. "What?"

"Put it back. Casey counts his masks, so he's gonna notice its' gone and-"

Then a loud sound of someone clearing their throat. At once, both brothers turned to look at the newcomer in the doorway.

"Alright," said Casey, his voice low and dangerous as he clapped the end of his baseball bat threateningly in his palm. "Where's mask one hundred and forty-two?"


	7. Babble Battle

I just wanted to take the time to thank all of my reviewers for taking interest in my drabbles, and if you're still reading them, you rock! And after a long time schoolwork taking over all of my hobbies, I can finally give you an update. Lately, I haven't been able to keep Mikey out of my writing. So, enjoy this Don and Mike interaction drabble!

Write write write!

~S.S.S

* * *

><p>"Okay ma'am, could you tell me <em>exactly <em>what you're having issues with?"

Donatello had said this in the kindest manner he could manage. It was proving to be quite a difficult task, as he was quickly losing patience with his current client.

"Uhhh...Yes. Ya see...Uhh, I'm havin' trouble with my, um..." droned the low female voice from the other side of the phone line, her thick Texas drawl practically oozing on her every word. Donatello curled his beak to stifle a tired sigh, his gaze rolling to the ceiling in aggravation; it was all he could do to keep himself from telling her straight out why he thought she couldn't get her computer to work. Unfortunately, she was only one customer among the many that lacked the words to describe to him what he needed to know in order to assist them, and as the days went by, it was becoming more and more tedious. It was difficult to imagine anything more obnoxious than someone who needed ten minutes to get their brain to function properly.

"Hey Don!"

...And then there was_ that _guy. He must have jinxed himself the moment the thought crossed his mind.

Michelangelo rounded his office chair to lean on its' arm, his very eyes seeming to grin at him. Donatello knew this face, of course; his little brother had a story to tell, and refusing him was not an option.

"Dude, you gotta listen to this! I was up topside on Golden Rod street and I saw this really weird-"

"Hello? Hello?" said the woman on the phone as Michelangelo babbled on.

Donatello did his best to tune him out; after all, he had a job to do. "Yes, I'm sorry ma'am. Continue."

This did not phase Michelangelo in the least. " -But he had a cat, so really it didn't count, but the lady said-!"

"Not now, Mikey... !" Donatello said with a hiss through gritted teeth.

"Mikey? Who's that?"

Donatello held his breath. It did not matter where you were or what you were doing - your customer could_ not _know that their call went anywhere other than an official office. "I'm so sorry - it's just one of my co-workers-!" he lied quickly, glaring daggers at his younger brother, who did not seem to notice as he was preoccupied with exaggerated hand gestures as he spoke.

"-Then she did this freaky thing with her eyes! I'm serious, you'd have to see it to get it. Actually, I think I can do it right now...!" said Michelangelo, crossing his eyes in an attempt to recreate the spectacle.

"And now, ya see, uh...it won't read my,um...my mouse, so..."

"Wait wait, I can do it!"

"Mikey...!" Donatello said with a growl; a firm warning of what was to come.

"And so, uh...I tried to-!"

"Yeah, like this- look!"

All at once, Donatello slammed his fist on the desk. "For god's sake, _shut up_!"

Silence. A stiff, cold silence. Michelangelo stared at him through widened eyes, frozen where he stood. The voice of his client was unheard. It only took Donatello a second to realize what he had done.

"Oh no...No no, not you - I wasn't talking to-!" Donatello managed to stutter before a loud click in his ear told him that the woman had come to her own conclusions. For a moment, Donatello simply stared with a blank air at his clenched fist, still rested on the surface where it had hit. Then, ever so slowly, he turned his head to the side, his eyes twitching maniacally as he stared at the one person who had caused this problem, the one person that undoubtedly doomed him to a very unhappy call from his boss.

Michelangelo simply stared back, seeming slightly perplexed by his brother's outburst. A pause.

"...Was I disturbing you?"


	8. Prompt: 3 AM

Hello guys! Well, it's been a century, and you know what that means! It's time to update my drabble...thingie! I'm so glad you guys are reviewing, and I swear, if I had something to say to you other than "Thanks!"(and therefore feel like an automated answering machine) I would reply to every single one. I really am grateful, though! Seriously!

So, I realized I haven't written anything involving Splinter yet, and Raph has only ever been in one. That, combined with a prompt the lovely AlexHamato gave me, made this!

Now, I wouldn't say Raph is quite what we would consider a turtle tot yet in this one; he's more like a baby. Eh, here goes nothing!

Write write write!

~ S.S.S

* * *

><p>A firm kick in the face was more than enough to shock Splinter out of his previously peaceful slumber. The drowsy rat raised his head ever so slightly, blinking tiredly as his blurred vision cleared and adjusted to what little light the cramped burrow offered his eyes. Only then could he make out the small, roundish hatchling stretched out on his plastron in front of his surrogate father's face, his tiny foot barely an inch from his now aching snout. The dark shade of green his skin possessed told Splinter that this was Raphael; he could feel his kin curled up quite securely near Splinter's stomach.<p>

When exactly did Raphael move during the night, and why? Perhaps he had grown tired of the company of his brothers, and had moved to cooler comfort? Whatever reason there might be, it was either very early, or very late; It was not time to awaken yet, not at this hour.

Raphael made a feeble noise, a little like a peep and a whimper blended together, before kicking out again, this time hitting Splinter square in the center of his nose. Giving a hard snort upon impact, Splinter reached up to grasp the child's shell and pull him downwards, away from the slightly bruised area and towards the crook of his neck.

Only for Raphael to wake up accordingly, give Splinter an irritated look (which, with his round face, looked more like someone had poked him in the forehead), bite him on the ruffles of his cheek and stay there.

Splinter gave a deep sigh of resignation. With any luck, this child would only have him up until three AM.


	9. Jellyfish

Hello, I'm still alive, and now that my finals are done, it's time to write! This one is from Leonardo's perspective, and came right the hell out of nowhere. Enjoy!

~S.S.S

* * *

><p>"Jellyfish are born as small polyps on the seabed. After a brief period of time, dozens of free swimming forms known as medusae separate themselves from the polyps and begin their journey towards sexual maturity. The body of the jellyfish..." rambled the narrator on the television.<p>

For the Hamatos, It seemed that the ocean was on the mind of everyone today. Donatello and Michelangelo, true to this idea, had spent the entire day talking about everything related to sea life. There were fish jokes, fish anatomy, a fish this and a fish that for everything. Leonardo hadn't the slightest clue why marine biology was suddenly so interesting (it was almost as strange as last month, when the apparent family theme was male pregnancy).

So, it was only fitting that when Raphael, Michelangelo and himself had settled down around the television - Leonardo on one end of the sofa, Raphael on the other, and Michelangelo sitting "Indian style" on the floor in front of them, idly picking at his toes as he watched the documentary with a dull interest - the program that happened to be on was Animal Planet. No one was really interested in learning how jellyfish reproduce; however, since the remote control was currently broken due to Raphael and his hatred of spiders that crawled on top of end tables while he had nothing but the remote in question to defend himself with, as well as the fact that no one wanted go to the trouble of actually getting up to switch the channel using the buttons on the set, Leonardo supposed that they cared as much as he did.

He was sure to hear a little tid-bit about fish now; so far, he had learned that cuttlefish are terrible singers, angler fish are feminist extremists, and that oysters are gender confused. He was sure Michelangelo was out of subtle fish puns now, so the worst they could get was a useless fact. He watched the jellyfish on the screen propel itself away from a stunned tuna as Raphael took a swig of his soda...

"Jellyfish eat with their asses."

Leonardo was treated to a spray of Pepsi and saliva spattering onto his face from Raphael. His eyes tight shut, Leonardo curled his beak irritably before giving Michelangelo a firm kick in the shell.

"What?" Michelangelo whined defensively. "It's true!"


	10. Knock Knock

_Knock knock knock._

April knew who was at the door the moment she heard the rapping noise upon the wood. But as she settled stonily onto her couch, brow furrowed slightly in determination, she knew she wasn't going to answer it. Not after he acted like the utter idiot he was earlier that day.

_Knock knock knock._

She wasn't going to answer it. She didn't care that it was ten thirty at night and his apartment was quite a few miles away. It wasn't like he hadn't managed to get by without help, anyway.

_Knock knock knock._

She certainly didn't care that it was raining heavily outside. Even if he was probably soaked and cold, yet determined to stay right where he was at her doorstep until she opened the door. Like an idiot.

_Knock knock._

No matter what, she was not going to touch that knob. Even if she was worried.

_Knock knock._

Under no circumstances.

_Thunk._

April gave a sigh, resigned to his insistence. Pushing a few stray strands of her hair out of her face, she finally made her way to the door, unfastened its lock, and swung it open.

She was met immediately with the very remorseful eyes of Casey Jones. In his fist, which was still pressed against the door frame where it had hit, was a small bouquet of flowers. She was sure that they would have been very beautiful, had they not been wet, lacking quite a few petals, and drooping pathetically over the paper-thin plastic wrap that held them together. Casey himself was just as drenched, his clothes plastered to his skin by the rainwater and dripping onto the welcome mat.

"Sorry." he said simply; though his head was bowed, his gaze skimmed her face, searching for any hint of approval like a guilty puppy caught in a wrong-doing.

Her heart melted. She couldn't help but to give him a slightly sad, but affectionate smile.

"Come inside, you idiot."

* * *

><p>Yay, Casey and April again! They deserve more attention, wouldn't you say? I believe this drabble is much, MUCH better than the last one, no? And it's not (entirely) humor this time!<p>

I had fun writing this. Mostly because I haven't written in MONTHS, and this is the first thing I've finished in a while. I am so happy, you have no idea. Well, until next time!

~S.S.S


	11. Memory

Donatello picked up the photo from the desk as if it was made of thin glass. Though the color had faded, the six friendly faces glowing unseeingly up at him from the frame were still quite clear and vivid; Michelangelo, masking his mischief with a cheeky grin as he made bunny ears behind the head of Leonardo, who glanced amusedly at a laughing Raphael and Casey - he remembered that April had been less than agreeable the night she had taken the picture, and that Casey had poked a joke at her expense. He saw himself beside them, his own merriment masked by a tame, subtle smile.

And there was his father, standing behind him with his hand on his shoulder. He remembered little of the greying fur peppering his snout, of the tired shadow that darkened his otherwise content and peaceful demeanor. He remembered only that he had been there. That his eyes were sharp with life, and that he saw Donatello, his son, when he stood beside him. They had the same muted smile.

His vision blurred, and the surface of the aging picture became peppered with warm, clear droplets. He gently pressed his beak to his father's face, closed his eyes, and wished for a moment to live in that memory forever.

* * *

><p><em>...<em>

_..._

_..._

_Uh... give me a second to stop coughing from the dust I blew off this drabble series._

_~S.S.S_


	12. White Noise

So, let's skip over the whole "oh, dear, it's been forever" and just get this up, yes? My Don does a whole bunch of crazy, weird crap in my head on a regular basis, so, in rebellion of my imagination, I wanted to write him doing something simple and nice for once. A good reason as any to write a vignette, yes? So, here is Sushi's typical fluffiness, I guess!

_~ S.S._

* * *

><p><em>April,<em>

_If my overall observations are correct, you should be alert enough to find this note at around 3:02 to 3:15 AM, give or take a few minutes. _

_Excuse my intrusiveness into your personal habits – I understand how badgering this may be, as I deal with this regularly with Leonardo – but I could not help but notice your lack of responsiveness, ill temperament, and general tiredness during your last three visits to the lair. I can only conclude that you haven't been getting as much sleep as you could. You seem a considerably balanced and punctual woman, so I think it likely that it isn't intentional on your part. _

_Therefore, I present to you one of my choice stimulants; the small device this note is attached to is a media player of sorts. It is programmed to emulate up to six sounds, including television static, wind chimes and the classic waterfall, chosen and tweaked specifically to aid sleep. All of these sounds are stimulating, but non-disruptive. If my experience truly accounts for most, I believe they will prove effective in improving your resting patterns. Since its creation at my father's request two years ago, it has served me well in my own sleeping troubles; I hate to part with it, but I feel your need is greater than mine. It's quite easy to operate; simply push the small white buttons along the dashboard to browse through the options. There is a scroll wheel upon the side for volume. Please let me know how it works._

_Sweet dreams, then, I hope?_

_Don_

_P.S.- I highly recommend the "Electric Fan" - one of my personal favorites._

April studied the curling, slanted writing once more with a drowsy, yet warm interest. At the moment, she was unsure whether her surprise was pleasant or one of awkward intrigue; obvious as she may have been with her miserable week of tossing and turning and late night wandering, she found Donatello's attention to detail – _her_ details, specifically – a little more than uncanny. Nonetheless, she gently set the paper back upon the end table and folded it gently upon the center as she made to study the small device clutched in her hand, making only the slightest shift to straighten into a slouching sit beneath her sheets.

From what she could make of it in the shadow of her light-less room, It appeared as a notably unremarkable device; the varying shades of plastic that framed the dull, bluish screen looked as patches would upon a pair of jeans, melted as one only to hold the thing together. The faint light that glowed feebly from the screen was only enough so that it could be read in the dark – a definite sign of one of Donatello's older inventions, when resources were few. As it was, it could nearly be mistaken for a bulky, secondhand calculator. In fact, wasn't that an actual calculator screen…?

And yet, the moment she had pressed the small arrow upon the front, it had done as its lender had promised; the hum of a fan, low and light upon the air, filled the silence with its subtle ambience. There was no skip or grain in its sound; it played as smoothly as if one were in the room. With it, a new atmosphere joined her where she otherwise lay alone. A comfortable one. A calm one.

She would experiment with it further in the morning. For now, however, she would simply put it to use. She would use it, if only to show her appreciation. After all, Donatello did ask for feedback on how it worked and he, of all people, would certainly notice if she came to him with nothing.

So, placing it upon the table, she sunk beneath the sheets once more and closed her eyes, her mind drifting as smoothly and lightly as the airy whirring of Donatello's humble invention.

"Thanks, Donnie."


End file.
